seasons greetings
by Joe Little
Summary: An original Quilight Zone tale, i.e. TZ minus the cruel, grotesque, & hopeless. Sour religion professor dismisses miracles from the Bible until he encounters a miracle from the Bible.


_Season's greetings  
_by Joe Little, 2012

_You're traveling into a new creation, a city on a hill- a journey to a land of quiet constellation. In the still of the night, that's the lamppost up ahead, your next stop: the Quilight Zone._

Time for the last class of the day. Religion 101. Professor Hal Bixton enters the room and walks across the stage toward the podium. After gathering his notes & thoughts he speaks into the microphone, or clears his throat; it's hard to say which. His voice reverberates across the lecture hall. Scores of students come to order.

"Season's greetings," mumbles the Professor.

"This afternoon we shall continue our discussion on myths and legends of the Bible. For those of you unable or unwilling to attend class on Monday, i shall restate, out of the kindness of my heart, one point especially. The larger-than-life characters of the Old Testament in particular are precisely that, incredible and unbelievable. The miraculous magic which envelopes Adam & Eve's garden, Noah's ark, Jonah's fish story and the tall tales of other Hebrew folk heroes provide hours of reading pleasure, but hardly lend themselves to historical study. At the risk of being labeled "scrooge" i will add this seasonal side note. The fantastic events surrounding the birth of Jesus Christ, not to speak of his adulthood, bear little resemblance to the real world. Folks: those are the facts of life. Unless i miss my guess the authors of the Old Testament and to a lesser extent the New overindulged with regard to _spirits_."

The professor's pause after _spirits_, together with the barely noticeable flash of a churlish grin on his face, is met-appropriately-with silence.

"Anyway, having put these people and things in their place," he continues, "let us now discuss how the supposed prophecies of ancient Israelite priests crumble under the discerning...eye of... Excuse me just a minute."

The oral barrage comes to a halt; silence rules. Obviously distracted by someone or something, the Professor heads toward- then thru- the stage doorway to his left. Unbeknownst to his students, the Professor has overheard the faint tones of someone singing(!), and decides to investigate this intrusion on his thought process.

Standing outside he immediately discovers a puzzling curiosity: "Isn't this the door to the hallway," mutters the Professor under his breath upon finding the door locked behind him.

"Son of a gun," he grumbles.

Just then the distant sound of music reawakens his more pertinent concern: to locate and stifle the source of that obnoxious disturbance. Glancing at his watch, the Professor hurries off in the direction of the singing. Not far away, at the edge of a mix of trees, our Professor Bixton meets the Singer.

"Oh, hello there," says the Singer, a man dressed in white, standing alone.

"Hello, nothing!" sneers the Professor. "What is the meaning of all this musical chitter-chatter?"

"We're practicing up for a choral performance later this evening," replies the Singer.

"That's good and well but I've got a class to lecture and i shan't compete with your harmonica convention or whoever. And besides," says the Professor, regaining his composure, "a choral performance involves an entire group of singers. The way i'm seeing it, you're all by yourself."

"Almost," answers the Singer with a kind smile. "This isn't on my itinerary but i think you could use a course in good news. Hit it fellas!" And suddenly there is with the Singer a multitude of the heavenly host praising god and saying,

"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."

Then they are gone. The professor, having fallen to the ground, breathes heavily. Catching his breath, the professor anxiously glances up. The Singer is before him trying to help the professor up. The effort meets with resistance.

"You're a, a, a..." starts the professor.

"In as many words, yes" continues the Singer. "I'm sorry about the lack of warning there; i should've given you a head's up."

"I'll say," stammers the still shaken professor.

"Don't be frightened," pleads the Singer. This is a joyous occasion, for to you is born this day a Savior, who is..."

"Jesus Christ!" shouts the professor. His response comes as a surprise to both.

"How did you know?" asks the Singer, suspiciously.

"Oh! Well, i teach a, um — who else could it be? I mean, look at all the prophecies that have been, eh... hey, may i see Him?"

The Singer pauses. "I don't know. This is highly unusual. I'm sorry, i just can't."

"Please!" begs the normally reserved professor with the earnestness of a child on Christmas morning.

"Well, all right, for a minute or so, but only from a distance. Agreed?"

"Agreed," replies the professor eagerly.

The Singer leads the professor thru a mix of trees with haste then halts suddenly as they reach a clearing. There, the professor and his guide observe a scene which bears repeating:

A babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.

The professor, mouth open, wears a blank expression. After what seems like hours, he finally says, "It's Him. Baby Jesus! Then it's true! He really did..."

"Yes, professor, there is a Jesus Christ", says the Singer. "You're lucky. They came this close to securing a private room in the inn," he says, motioning then angling toward a small structure- more hut than hotel- nearby. As they approach the entrance, the Singer- quietly enjoying his new role as tour guide- opens the door.

"Please, allow me," he says.

"Thank you," replies the professor as he glances- anxiously, yet in anticipation- at the Singer.

Standing inside, the professor recognizes the familiar in an instant: rows and rows of empty lecture hall seats fronted by a stage, podium and microphone. Hearing the door shut behind him, he knows his 15 minutes of fancy have come to an end. Reluctantly, he turns and opens the door. Sure enough, a darkening campus parking lot greets the professor's sad gaze. Standing there in the doorway as if he's lost his best friend, the professor is temporarily blinded by the head lights of someone pulling out of a parking space.

"Hey, professor, wish us luck tonight!" exclaims a familiar voice from the car as it passes by.

"Good luck!—and merry Christmas!" trumpets the professor as the car disappears into the night.  
-

Professor Hal Bixton, a man practiced in the art of worldly presumption, now colored by a choral blast from parts unknown. Though you won't find a framed certificate for it on his office wall, the professor now has an advanced degree in trust, courtesy of a crash course in, the Quilight Zone!

© Copyright 2012 Joe Little. All Rights Reserved.


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